ASTRID

CHAPTER 1

To be the most powerful—I craved it.

I’ve long forgotten what it means to truly live. For nearly a decade, I’ve trained relentlessly. And now, I can say with certainty—I am good at it. So good that I can defeat almost anyone. Almost.

There are two I could never beat in a fight: my father and Hillary. They’re just…

too good.

I still remember how my father always praised her. She was his pride. But fate was cruel. When I was sixteen, our home was attacked by our enemies. They slaughtered nearly half of my father’s men, including Hillary.

From then on, we were forced to flee, abandoning the only home I had ever known for a place far more secure, hidden from those who hunted us. I never understood why they were after us. My father never told me.

Not that we were close. We never had been.

For a year, we lived in hiding, buried fifty feet underground with my father’s people—about fifty of them, give or take. The space was suffocating, not just because of the lack of air but because of what it represented: confinement, a life stripped of everything I once knew.

For a year, I never felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, never breathed in the crisp, organic scent of the trees. The world above became a distant memory, something I could only grasp in fading fragments.

I still remember—whenever I felt lost or dissatisfied with this existence, I would sneak away, finding solace in solitude. I would watch the sky, the only thing that seemed to understand me. That, just like the blue sky—vast, unchanging, and indifferent—it watched over me without judgment. No matter how much I longed for something more, it remained the same, distant yet comforting.

A knock at my door pulled me from my thoughts. I turned, my mind still lingering in the past, and crossed the room. When I opened the door, Kenny stood there. One of my father’s men.

“Astrid, your father wants to see you,” he said.

My brow arched. Now? Why?

“Did he say why?”

Kenny shook his head. “No idea. He just told me to pass the message.”

I resisted the urge to scoff. Of course, he wouldn’t tell me. He never did.

Maybe he didn’t have a choice this time. His favorite—Hillary—was gone. Dead. And now, he was left with me. The second-best.

God, I hated being second best.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Tell him I’ll be there soon.”

Kenny gave a small nod before turning away, leaving me alone with the weight of my own bitterness.

I shut the door behind me and exhaled sharply. My fingers instinctively reached for the mirror, smoothing out my hair, searching for any trace of exhaustion or filth on my face. Nothing. At least I still looked composed, even if I didn't feel it.

After a moment, I let out a deep sigh, bracing myself for whatever awaited me. Then, with a final glance around my room—this suffocating box that had become my cage—I stepped out, making my way toward my father’s office.

As I walked, I took in my surroundings, the same way I always did, as if I were seeing them for the first time. The underground stronghold was nothing short of a fortress, a hidden world carved beneath the earth, designed for survival rather than comfort. Yet, despite its purpose, it was lavish in its own way. The walls were lined with elegant fixtures, the halls wide and polished, and each room built to accommodate the people who had followed my father into this exile.

I had no idea how we sustained it all. Where our supplies came from. How my father’s men managed to slip in and out without being detected. There was an exit somewhere, but its location remained a mystery—one of many secrets my father kept from me.

I hated that. I hated not knowing.

Finally, I stood before my father’s office. My pulse drummed in my ears as I swallowed hard, then knocked twice before pushing the door open.

He didn’t look up.

Seated behind his heavy mahogany desk, he was engrossed in a book, his fingers idly tracing the edges of the pages. No greeting, no acknowledgment—just silence. As if my presence was inconsequential.

I clenched my jaw. If he didn’t care that I was here, why summon me at all?

For a moment, I debated walking out, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. Instead, I straightened my spine, masking my irritation.

“Kenny said you wanted to see me,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

Still, no reaction.

I hated this. This damn game of indifference he always played.

Finally, he sighed, slow and deliberate, before removing his glasses and meeting my gaze. His face was lined with age, though he still carried the sharp, chiseled features of a man who had commanded power all his life. Silver streaked his once-dark hair, but his eyes—cold, ocean-deep blue—remained the same. My eyes.

I hated that I looked like him.

My mother was half-Chinese, though I barely remembered her. I didn’t know if she had the same eyes as me, but I wished I had inherited anything from her instead. Anything that didn’t tie me to the man sitting in front of me.

“I’ve heard,” he began, setting his glasses aside, “that you’ve been threatening the guards to tell you where the exit is.”

Shit.

Shit!

My stomach twisted.

How the hell did he know?